


You Don't Know That I Know

by ChasetheSun2



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, One-sided johndave, Sexual Fantasy, Trans Dave Strider, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 12:57:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20228230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasetheSun2/pseuds/ChasetheSun2
Summary: Dave's had a bit of a stalker outside his balcony. He's not complaining.





	You Don't Know That I Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueMoonHound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoonHound/gifts).

You like to consider yourself a normal guy. You have a normal job at a grocery store, a normal apartment in the middle of downtown, a normal after-hours hobby that keeps your laptop full of half-mixed tunes and melodies. You paid your bills on time when you can and squeeze by on ramen and dollar-store chips when you can’t. Sometimes you even buy Starbucks just to see what weird shit you could get away with concocting; your favorite so far was a chocolatey matcha smoothie thing that you never could quite get right again afterwards.

Your days go by as usual. You shoot the shit with John, the “not a homosexual” cashier that definitely throws you looks when your back is turned, right up until you’re done your time at the local grocer for the day. Up until you managed to get yourself an actual longboard you’d ridden your beaten up old eighth-grade deck the whole twenty minutes’ walk home. Fuck the bus when you could skate to work, right? Right. It’s not as if winter is an issue here in humidity hell, Texas, where the global thermostat is almost permanently stuck above seventy. You’d flip your deck up, walk into the apartment building. Check your mail; all fliers and bills. Say hi to the pretty-looking troll from 406 with the nerdy looking hipster glasses. 

Nice pants, you tell him as a greeting.

Fuck off, he tells you back in the normal routine, then he tacks on a  Don’t you have anything better to do than bug me every day?

Not until ten-thirty, you retort. His face goes purple and you can’t help a smug feeling as he scoots away. What a weird kid, you think. Cute though, for sure. You gather up your mail, satisfied with the amount of flirting you’ve done today, and head to the third floor where you live.

You manage to cook, get some dinner into you, load up the dishwasher and sit down for a good brainless session of Netflix all before six. It’s a good night, nothing important happening and you actually had the money to splurge on sale steak this week so dinner was extra-filling. You deserve this break, you tell yourself, flicking through Tinder halfheartedly. Ha - John is there. Called it, prick. You swipe right and get a match. Checkmate.

So yeah. Pretty normal guy. 

Halfway through an episode of Bones, your ears prick up. There’s a sound outside, more than just the normal cars rushing by and the thumping of bass from downstairs. It’s a subtle rustling, like a fierce windstorm is battering the tall old elm outside and tapping it up against your balcony door. The problem with that simile, however, is that there’s no windstorm. Only a lithe, thin frame of a person outside, climbing onto your balcony. It creeps up from the lower branches, scraping against the metal railing. Then slowly higher, up into the smaller branches. You can hear the stranger struggling slightly as the branch waves, threatening to send them tumbling into the lawn below. It eventually settles out, and you tense.

You can feel an almost Pavlovian flush creep into your cheeks and a heat pool in your belly. You sat there for a few moments, hearing the tapping against the balcony but not daring to look out the window.  _ Make them wait.  _

But not too long, of course. We don’t want to bore an audience waiting for action. 

Eventually nervous tension rising in your belly made him give in. You shut off your TV and slowly stood. Maybe it’s just your imagination but you swear you can feel the eyes on you, burning from behind the panes of glass and soft, sheer curtains. You certainly hope there are eyes on you, anyway. This wouldn’t be any fun if there weren’t. 

The shiver that runs up your spine is no longer one of derision or fear like it first was when you found this watcher, but one of anticipation. Eagerness. Your heart hammers in your ears, ringing in the silent apartment as you reach for the hem of your shirt. You hope this gives off a good show for your peeping tom; lean and well-toned, freckled to all hell and back on top of already tawny brown skin, strong from years of training and residual anxious exercise habits. You’re scarred, but as you’ve been told, you’re also  _ pretty. _

You roll your shoulders and crack your neck, running a hand through your shock-white curls. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. You’re suddenly aware of every muscle in your body, poised and ready to act. Your whole body wants to run and leap and pounce with the explosive energy running through you, but you calm the adrenalin into something a little more manageable. The blood flowing through your veins pounds in your ears and your face feels hot.

It’s showtime. 

You start with a few simple stretches. You’re not facing the window, but your ears are highly tuned for any movement, so you immediately hear the shuffling of feet as the peeper steps onto the balcony proper to get a good view. You know they’ll hide behind the curtains in some pretense of hiding, the lamest excuse in the world when they know you’re just going to go straight to the shower after this. There’s no way you would “see” them.

Thinking about later already has blood pulsing between your thighs but you close them tightly together for the moment. Stretch to the left, touch the bottom hem of your sweatpants, stretch to the right. Arms above your head, let them see every muscle working. You spread your legs and sink low, lower, down into downward dog. 

You don’t know why this tom likes watching you do yoga so much. Maybe he just likes watching the way your body can move, the positions you take, thinking of themselves over or under you. That’s what you like thinking about, at least, once the shower water’s running hot and you get to let off a little steam from your session. Maybe it’s only an aesthetic thing and you’re just a horny bastard, but really, who seeks out someone else’s balcony just to get artistic nudes? Lame.

The movement outside has gone still and you, ass in the air, walk your hands back to your toes. This isn’t instant gratification hour, you have to remind yourself to stop from grinding your thighs together like the desperate fool you are. This is your exercise hour, the only hour you have before bed to relax and unwind and do a bit of goddamned yoga. It’s not your fault there’s someone indulging your exhibitionism kink right out there, now control yourself, you absolute animal.

You close your eyes, and breathe deep. Rolling up slowly, you do this simple motion several more times, bowing and getting into downward dog, then slowly moving back to standing. Subtly as you start to twist your spine to  _ reaaaaaaally _ crack it, you peek out at the window. They’re still there. You try and focus on the features, anything distinguishing, but they’re admittedly well hidden behind your curtains. The light from your kitchen against your balcony window isn’t helping either; it mirrors your own ass back at you instead of showing you what’s behind it. 

Hey, at least you’re getting to see your own performance. You grin at your reflection, stopping your stretching for a second to admire yourself. You haven’t quite seen your shoulders at this good of an angle in a while, so you flex with the smug knowledge that even this bit of vanity is sure to get a reaction from your  _ voyeur _ . Thinking about them watching makes every ounce of blood in your body run south. 

You’re not normally a vain person. But knowing that someone thinks you’re attractive enough to watch while you’re just doing evening stretching is something of a confidence boost. It should be creepy, sure, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to be scared.

A satisfying  _ crack  _ from your spine makes you groan in relief and for a moment, you slump over, enjoying the newfound looseness in your back. You rub it slightly, rolling your shoulders again just to feel the blood really flow back through your muscles. With that small relief you sigh, sliding down into downward dog. The routine is simple to start, jutting your leg up between your arms; warrior one, two, three, reverse. One, two, three, reverse. You can’t help but grind your thighs together at every opportune moment as the stretching becomes more intense, sweat starting to bead your forehead. Your muscles ache; you’re aching all over, inside and out, just wanting to get this hour over with so you can go shower and rub one out. Subtly you glance at the clock.

It’s only ten forty-seven. You roll your eyes and rest out of reverse warrior for a moment. It feels like longer. You’re dying, Squirtle. The world is unfair.

Shaking your head only causes beads of sweat to fly everywhere. It’s gross. You feel gross. You hope your peeper doesn’t see it. You come up out of reverse and humble yourself, arms behind your back, pulling down hard. Something pops in your shoulder and the noise you let out is loud and borderline pornographic. You’ve been wanting to crack that shoulder blade for  _ days. _

You hear a small groan from outside at the noise you made and your attention is back to the tasks at hand. 

Vaguely you wonder if your stalker is good at giving massages. Are their hands warm? Are they a troll or a human? Briefly you entertain the idea of troll claws skittering along your back, their sharp teeth so close to your pulse. You tilt your head to the side, lulling yourself into your own fantasy as your eyes shut. Breathing gets a little harder and you have to bite your lip to relax again. A shudder goes up your body as you come back to center, your chest pointed to the balcony now. Your tom should be happy to see that your eyes are closed, cheeks flushed and lips slightly parted. You know that you look every bit as horny as you feel but can’t bring yourself to care. Not when you can almost feel the lips on you, mouth desperate and claiming, claws at your hips and dragging you in closer by the waist - or pinning you to the wall, yes, that’s nice too - growling in that weird, possessive tone trolls get when they’re angry or turned on--

You groan and have to go into downward dog for several moments, pedaling your legs just to calm the rushing heat in your belly. Before you started T you would have never believed yourself to be able to be this turned on but even the slightest brush from your boxers up against your inner thighs is making you nearly give up the ghost on anything leg related.

Fuck me, you whisper. No, literally, fuck me. Jesus christ. 

You come out of downward dog and take a moment to sit in child’s pose to collect yourself. There’s no way to pretend to yourself or anyone else that you don’t have your thighs clenched as tightly as possible to stem the desperate pulse of warmth between them. You’re going to go crazy. You have to know who they are. If you didn’t have a single ounce of self control you would be grinding against your hand right now in full view of the window, or worse - ruining the fun altogether by stumbling out onto the balcony and demanding your tom ruin you instead.

That shouldn’t be as hot of an image as it is to you. You’d kinkshame yourself but honestly you’re already too far gone if you’re jerking it to this unknown person every night. 

The timer goes off. It’s eleven-thirty, and you’ve been sitting in child’s pose for the last five minutes. Slowly you sit up and take a deep breath. You’re soaked and frankly pretty glad to have taken off your shirt at the beginning. Totally worth going tiddies out, in your humble but currently titty-less opinion. You can’t wait to have a shower, get clean and feel the no doubt earth-shattering orgasm you’re about to give yourself. With that fantasy and a good solid plan for the rest of your night in your mind you try and fail to stop a yawn, cooling yourself down by stretching your arms and standing back-on in front of your fan. 

Just on the off chance you might be able to catch something, you turn again as you stand with the pretense of twisting your spine, squinting out of the corner of your eye. There’s nothing, nothing for so long, but then you see it. 

_ There.  _ Just the tiniest hint of a glint off thick hipster glasses. You have to turn away to hide the smug look on your face as you start to feel it pull at your lips. So it’s been him, this whole time. You thought he was just easily flustered, but no, he’s seen you half-naked and desperately horny, limbs trembling as you try to keep up the pretense of stretching. No wonder he turns so purple in the face every time you say word one to him. The thought makes you wonder vaguely just how far you can push things before he gives in and admits it….

That gives you an idea for a game.

You can’t let him know that you know just yet. That would ruin the fun, for both of you. Instead you sling the shirt over your shoulder and use one of its sleeves to mop your forehead, ruffling your hair slightly. You slide your shades on over your eyes before you can start to get a headache. The room darkens and you let your eyes glide over to the balcony doors yet again. After a pause, you take one step...then another…and another. You spot a subtle movement in the corner of the balcony that kind of looks like a lithe, fishy figure leaping over your rail and back into the darkness of the tree’s foliage. 

Softly, you chuckle. Turns out he wasn’t too interested in staying around, but you’ll get him yet. Maybe next time you’ll invite him inside instead of making him sit out there all cold and alone. You turn to the couch, picking up your phone. At some point John had messaged you.

_ don’t say a word. _

_ hahahahahaha dude.  _

_ i wont tell anyone.  _

_ if you buy me coffee tomorrow. _

_ im joking mostly _

_ uuuuuuuugh. FINE.  _

_ pleasure doing business with you  _

_ 🖕 _

_ now im excited to go to work tomorrow _

_ i have some juicy grade a gossip for you _

_ definitely deserving of extra whipped cream on my drink _

_ ….how much extra are we talking. _

_ so i told you about my window stalker right _

_ WHAT?! _

_ oh dude _

_ so much extra whip _

_ just fuckin bring a whole cup of the shit _

_ never mind the whip, tell me now!!! _

_ john if i gave everything up that easily you wouldnt be a virgin anymore _

_ you are the worst.  _

_ love you too _

_ (Read: 11:51 PM) _


End file.
